The Mansion in the Mist Read Free

Emerson tied the boat up to a post and held it close to the dock so Miss Eells could jump out. Then he lunged out himself, did a barrel roll across the dock, and sprang nimbly to his feet. He and Miss Eells walked slowly toward Anthony. They stopped just behind him, and Emerson coughed and tried to look cheerful.
    "Hem!" he said, as he reached down and gave Anthony a little pat on the back. "Are you getting interested in Buddhist meditation, my boy? If so, you should be sitting cross-legged and not waggling your feet in the—"
    Emerson's voice died away when Anthony turned to face him. The yellow lantern light revealed Anthony's tear-streaked face. He looked utterly, totally miserable.
    "What in the name of..." began Emerson, but he cut himself off. Then, more gently he added, "What's wrong, son?"
    "I... I saw something awful," Anthony began haltingly. "It... it..." But he couldn't go on.
    Miss Eells stepped forward. Stooping, she gave Anthony her arm and helped him to his feet. "Come on, Tony," she said softly. "Emerson, you bring the groceries. Let's go up to the cottage and have a talk."
    A few minutes later, the three of them were sitting in the living room. The six oil lamps burned brightly, and the potbellied stove in the corner took away the evening chill. Anthony was sitting in a rocking chair with a glass of ginger ale in his hand. He still looked confused and half asleep, but the color was returning to his cheeks. Emerson and Miss Eells sat nearby. They frowned anxiously and kept glancing at the floor, as if they couldn't quite think of what they ought to say. Finally Emerson broke the silence.
    "Anthony, my boy," he said quietly, "it's terrible to see you in this state. But it'll be better for you if you can tell us what happened. Was there a burglar here? Or are you homesick?"
    Anthony shook his head. "No, Mr. Eells, it's... It's not like that at all. Like I said, I saw something awful." Then, haltingly Anthony began to tell about the mysterious whispering chest. But he was only just halfway through his story when Emerson cut him off.
    "Anthony!" he exclaimed. "This is incredible! I know this house as well as I know the back of my hand, and there isn't any chest in that room—or anywhere else in the house for that matter."
    Anthony stared in amazement. Could Emerson be telling the truth? Carefully, Anthony set his empty glass down on a table. "Could... could we go up and look right now?" he asked in a faltering voice.
    Emerson stared for a second and then he smiled confidently. "Of course we can!" he said as he sprang to his feet. Grabbing an oil lamp, Emerson motioned for the others to follow him. They went up the dark stairs single file and down the long corridor. The lamp cast weird shadows on the wall as they moved along, and through the open windows you could hear the wind hissing in the pines. At the far end of the hall, they paused outside the room that Anthony had mentioned.
    Emerson went in first, with the lamp held high in his hand, and the others followed him. The wavering smoky light showed that the room was empty.
    Anthony felt sick. He put his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. A fit of dizziness came over him, and he shook his head violently. "It... it really was there," he muttered weakly. "Honest, it was!"
    Emerson eyed him skeptically. "Anthony, my boy," he said, "has it occurred to you that maybe you fell asleep and dreamed the whole thing?"
    Anthony looked disgusted. "Come on, Mr. Eells! I know when I'm asleep and when I'm awake! I really did see this big wooden chest, and it was right here where we're standing. Honest!"
    "Well, in that case," put in Miss Eells calmly, "we have a mystery on our hands. I believe you saw something, Anthony, and if Emerson here wasn't such a know-it-all he'd agree with me. To tell the truth, I've felt that there was something creepy about this house ever since I first set foot in it. Em, do you think we should go home?"
    Emerson shook his head vigorously.